


Typing

by SereneJourney



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SereneJourney/pseuds/SereneJourney
Summary: Being a storyteller is both a curse and a blessing.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Typing

Most people don’t know what it’s like to stay up to 3:45 in the morning, staring at a computer screen and typing away on a loud mechanical keyboard. Marceline’s eyelids are drooping. She can’t focus anymore, but she keeps typing.

Mechanical keyboards are nice because they give some real feedback to each individual letter. Each keystroke feels like it has more weight, like it matters more to the overall product. Her head nods, she briefly enters the world of sleep. She keeps typing.

Some would call this obsession. Some passion. Some depression. They’re probably all correct. It’s been days since she spoke to anyone else, weeks since she’d left her home. She keeps typing.

Writing is hard for Marceline. She can’t just sit down and stare at a page and start writing words. She has to feel, be inspired. She has to fight against her perfectionist mind and rip and tear the story out. She keeps typing.

By this point she is making ten mistakes for every three words she gets on the page. Progress is halting, impossibly slow. She hates this part, where she feels like she literally can’t stop until she reaches some kind of conclusion. Like her life will fall apart with the story if she doesn’t finish it while she’s inspired. She keeps typing.

A hand briefly touches her shoulder, startling her, but only just. She barely acknowledges the other person in the room. How the person arrived to her apartment at this hour, why, or who they were didn’t matter. She had a story to finish. She keeps typing.

She can feel eyes boring into the back of her skull, hear the bed squeak as someone sits upon it. She gets frustrated and deletes a whole paragraph, sacrificing precious minutes to restart and tell the story a little bit better. She feels a pang of guilt for ignoring the person behind her. She knows who it is. It’s someone important. She keeps typing.

The birds start chirping and she hears the gentle snoring of the person behind her. Her guilt has only intensified over the course of the past few hours. It feels terrible to ignore someone so important. Her writing was suffering for it, she could tell. She keeps typing.

She finally reaches a point where she can stop. An ending she is satisfied with for now. She’ll probably delete everything here later. She stands up and blearily rubs her eyes, stretching her limbs with  _ cracks _ and  _ pops _ . She turns to the bed behind her. She lays down. She apologizes. She feels a hand grab her own and smiles. She hates herself a little less.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please leave a review if you liked it.
> 
> I'd be lying if I said I didn't picture someone specific while writing this, but the decision to leave her "important person" indistinct was made on purpose. The point is not who it is, but the fact that they care.
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> -J


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